Miriam Clark Potter

“ Has a deep blue cloak that he wraps up in;
His peaked hat has a star on top
And he fastens his cloak with a green gumdrop;
He’s always sleepy; a slow man he;
And he stretches and yawns at half-past three.
Now the greatest joy in the sandman’s life
Is Polly M’ Pumpkin, the sandman’s wife;
She’s a round little soul, with a rosy face,
And she bustles and bounces about the place;
The children the sandman goes to see
She loves a great deal more than he.
At seven o’clock, on every night,
She lights his lamp with a fagot bright ”

“ Dappled and warm and blue?
Follow the curve of the meadow there
Over the hill, and then,
Where the marsh lilies droop in the careless wind
Look to the south again.
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There you will see it running away;
Ah, it is bold and free!
Never a truant so brave has been
Never so brave will be;
Running away, with never a care
If all of the blossoming trees
Cry, “Wait, little river, stay here a while,”
Reaching their arms to tease.
Bad little shadows, who long to roam
Slip in its depths to hide
Good little ones, who are happy at home,
Sleep in the reeds at its side ”

“ The moon, her patient sister, was waiting in the blue,
How could she leave for supper, with so many things to do?
She must keep the little stars awake, and put the breeze to sleep;
And scare away the cloud-folk, who crowded round like sheep.
So Little Sister comes to her; she flies before her face.
She spreads her silver gown out, and bows a low “Your Grace!”
With the dipper for a saucer, and a comet for a spoon,
She mixes sweets with fire and dew, and feeds them to the moon.
THE SANDMAN’S WIFE
The little brown sandman lives, you know,
On the top of the hill where the poppies grow ”

“ Shadows all about;
Other places
Other faces
Never half so dear;
Lady mother, stay with me,
Very, very near.
Mother’s hands to hold mine fast
Candle burning, low,
Wind across the gable roofs
Singing sad and slow;
Other hands
In other lands
Never were so good;
I would hold them always here
If I only could.
Stay with me, dear lady mother
Sing me off to sleep;
Sing of stars and candlelight,
Love so deep, so deep.
THE ROAD TO GLAD TOMORROW
Across the hills it winds away
Between the fields of clover
The road that leads from Glad Today ”

“ And down it went across a bridge, all tumbled and forlorn,
Then straight behind a farmer's barn, where ducks were eating corn!
Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty brown,
Some go running to the hills, some turn into town ”

“ There’s a motherly old willow growing close against the wall,
And I climb up in her branches, and I know I cannot fall,
For she rocks me very softly, in her gentle, loving way,
When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.
Softly to her leaves and branches come the breezes of the night
And they sing me songs of slumber, in the dim and restful light;
“Sleep and slumber, sleep and slumber, little child,” they seem to say,
“For the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.”
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THE FAIRY’S NAME WAS WHISPER
The fairy’s name was Whisper, and she flew around at night ”

“ Wise little runaway stars!
Far up above them the other stars
(Poor little patient things!)
Sit in the sky and study the clouds
Folding their sad little wings;
With the stern moon to watch them they sit and sigh:
“Won’t lessons be over, by and by?
We want to go down to the earth and fly!”
Runaway, runaway stars! ”

“ O, a boy may have a fife and gun, a boy may have a drum,
A boy may have a helmet with a plume;
And a boy may go a-marching all around the house with shouts,
And set the echoes ringing in a room;
But dolls were made for girls, I guess, and here before the fire,
I rock them, rock them, rock them to their rest;
The one that came from London-town, the one from bright Japan,
The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan,
The nodding one that shuts its eyes as sleepy babies can,
And the weary, dreary one I love the best. ”

“ Some birds belong to the sky and hills, and some must stay in the tree,
The wee brown partridge runs in the grass,—as wild as a bird can be;
They all belong to the free outdoors, the eagles, the owls, and the larks,
But the tall white swans, with their stately necks, were made for the city parks.
As they sail along in their proudest way, with their feet a-dabble behind,
Their stiff starched tails stand up in a row, the crispiest tails you’ll find ”

“ THE MARCH OF THE SHADOWS
From over western hill-tops, where the ruddy sun has dropped,
There comes a line of shadows, marching down,
They are clothed in softest gray, and they’re marching all the way,
From the distant, purple hill-tops to the town.
For their Shadow-King in silence leads them marching, marching on
Ac{115}ross the meadow lands along the lane
Where the glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, and the poppy flower is dreaming
And the summer wind is stealing through the grain.
For the evening dew has fallen, and the evening mists are low,
And every blossom wears a silver crown ”

“ Glowing like a fairy lamp,
Floating like a wing.
Magic colors gleam and go
In a glad surprise;
Can you reach the jewels there,
Li{15}ttle Wonder-Eyes?
Little boy from ’cross-the-street,
Very straight and proud,
Blows the biggest one of all,
Rosy as a cloud;
Up it rises like a bird,
Trembles in the air,
Shines with all its soul for us,
Then is gone nowhere.
Sky has sent her sweetest blue,
Dawn has sent her rose,
River sends her laughter-lights,—
Don’t you just suppose?
Day has given clearness,—
Night has lent a star,—
And only happy children
Know what bubbles are. ”

“ But the five little sheep on the hill looked sad
And nibbled the grass instead;
And each one smothered a sorrowful sigh
Shaking his wise little head;
And they called to the flock in the sky, “O no;
Such union would never do;
We must be fed on the greenest grass
While your meadow grass is blue;” ”

“ He was King of the Clouds, till one black day
The wind, in an anger, swept him away,
And his golden crown, like a living thing
Keeps moving about to find its king.
’Tis something just a child can see
And not for grown-ups, but for me.
When the night has come, and the lights are out,
And the shuddering shadows creep about
The moon shines in through the curtain lace
With her gentle eyes, and her quiet face,
And says with a smile that calms me, quite,
“I{62} am God’s bright angel over the night,
So go to sleep; don’t be afraid ”

“ They wind the clock, and ride the cat, and slide upon the floor.
They come to see the baby bathed, and stand, all in a row,
Upon the edge of Little Tub, and lean to watch the show;
They clap their hands at every splash; and then away they fly,
To see what cook is making, and dance upon the pie.
At night, when lamps are lighted, they hurry all about
(Like owls, they see much better when the moon and stars are out;)
They gather round the fireplace, to hear the fam’ly talk,
An{25}d walk upon the mantle; but you never hear them walk.
The things they do are dangerous ”

“ Till the stars grow white in the morning light
And the dawn is brushed with pink.”
ROCKING SONG
Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a chair—
(Swing, little shadow, on the wall!)
Openeyes was saying, “I shall wander in the moon,
And toss a golden comet for a ball.”
Sleepyheart was saying, “I shall not go out, I think,
For all the stars in heaven are going winky-wink.{125}”
Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a chair—
(Swing little shadow, to and fro!)
Openeyes was saying, “For the night was made for play;
I shall never go to bed again, I know.” ”

“ Martha took he{37}r sewing there; underneath the tree
Quiet in the shade she sat, sewing daintily.
Just perhaps when I am old, old as Martha looks,
I will sew on lacy clothes, read love-story books;
Now, behind the goblin bush, where I cannot show,
I ruffle up my windy hair, and pity Martha so!
A PLAINT
When I have grown a yard or so
I’ll be a pirate, that I know,
And capture on the stormy sea
Ships full of coffee and of tea.
For it is quite a shame, I think,
When such good things are had to drink
That only grown folks get a cup;
How glad I’ll be when I grow up! ”

“ Some go running to the hills, some turn into town;
Each and every one of them, I choose it as my friend,
For strange delights are waiting me, if I could find the end.
THE CUDDLE-DE-WEES
Our hen has a troop of cuddle-de-wees
Th{75}at follow her round, all day;
And some are yellow, and some are black,
And one is a spotless gray;
And at evening time, when the sunset light
Glows red between the trees
Our hen selects a sheltered place
And calls to her cuddle-de-wees;
“Cuddle-de-wees, cuddle-de-wees,
The dew’s on the meadow, the night’s on the breeze,
And the herd bells ring ”

“ An{111}d here a baby cuddles,—and here a baby cries,—
And Whisper finds the newest one, and shuts her tiny eyes.
And do the mothers see her? O never; not at all;
The kitten doesn’t see her, nor the clock upon the wall;
But all the nodding babies, who lie, or walk, or creep;
Know, “Whisper’s come to see us;” and then—they’re—off—to—sleep.
FIRE-FLIES
Over the meadow they’re flying low,
Bright little runaway stars,
And I sit by the window and watch them glow
Over the pasture bars;
They’re almost afraid to burn very bright
For fear they’ll be hur{112}ried back tonight ”

“ And the company man sits down with smiles
And eats very much indeed;
We try to be quiet, as good as we can,
And we stare all the time at the company man.
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THE NEW SLIPPERS
Sister Alice has some slippers that are really very new,
She’s had them from the shoe-shop for just a day or two;
They are very, very shiny, of a leather smooth and sleek,
With ribbon bows to tie them;—but goodness, how they squeak!
And early in the morning they come squeaking down the stairs,
They squeak across the polished floor to come to fam’ly prayers ”

“ She holds a star-torch in one hand
And dew drops in the other.
Ruth Fuller Stevens 1918
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TWILIGHT TOWN
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Down a drowsy, dewy hill
Leads the road away
To the walls of Twilight Town
At the close of day;
There the people wander slow
Down the shadow street
Fingers to their lips they lift
When they chance to meet.
All the houses, painted gray,
Blink their sleepy eyes;
Mothers, all along the way,
Whisper lullabyes;
Each bird-baby cuddles down
In its purple nest;
This is quiet Twilight Town;
The watchword there is Rest.
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THE LUCKY LITTLE STAR
“I’m a lucky little star!” ”

“ And at a sudden rattle they are frightened half to death.
(Now, did you ever hear, at dusk, with no one in the room,
The wicker chair go snappy-snap, like bristles in a broom?
Well, then you may be certain, so the Really-Trulies say,
That a Tiptoe slipped and tumbled, and is running fast away.)
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RAIN-ON-THE-ROOF
Rain upon the roof in the garret; little fingers knocking on the pane;
A fairy voice is calling in the splashing and the falling,
“I am the rain—the rain!”
Shadows, shadows, shadows, in the corner by the eaves;
We{27}t against the windows lie the little faded leaves. ”